


My Exile Is Awaiting

by GoldenPaws



Series: The Chains That Bind Us [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Desperation, Frigga is a good mum, Gen, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki is trying hard, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Parent-Child Relationship, Protective Frigga (Marvel), Research, Sad, Sad Ending, Thor is trying to be a good brother, in his own ways, it might not be enough though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 14:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20529440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenPaws/pseuds/GoldenPaws
Summary: “If it was one of us - Would you be able to simply stop looking?”“Loki--”“If there was even the slightest chance of freeing us, would you not fight until you dying breath?”She can’t deny it, and they both know it. The Queen would fight whole armies to protect her precious sons, and Loki is the same. And just as he does not dare lie to her, she won’t lie to him, either. With a sigh, she brushes back his slick hair and gives him a sad smile.“No, I suppose not. I doubt any parent ever would stop fighting for their child. But, your children are very different from most. You know what the völva told you father, you know why he had them taken away. Even if you managed to free him, where would you go? There would be no place for you anywhere near Asgard. You’d choose your very own exile.”“I know.”“And you are willing to do so?”Sequel to "And Watch The Heather Grow"





	My Exile Is Awaiting

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote a sequel! The first one was a lot of fun to write, and I've got a few more ideas about this whole setting. I've got another part already finished, and I'll post it in a few days. This takes place shortly before the first Thor movie, with a few obvious changes (e.g Loki actually has children). I also took some liberties when it comes to the Northern Mythology (and bear in mind that most of my knowledge comes from internet research). Still, I hope it turned out okay.  
Would love to hear what you think!
> 
> Love,  
Goldie

Loki never had any problem sneaking back into the palace. For many centuries now, he has known about all of the secret pathways that lead through the ancient masonry, knowledge he finds himself infinitely grateful for these days. It is better if no one sees him return late at night - Essential even, for his life, as well as... But well, no one will ever now. Not if he can help it.

None of the guards notice him as he slips through the darkness, ignorant and oafish as ever, staring ahead into the night. He suppressed a scoff, wondering whoever might be stupid enough to believe them to be of any help should disaster strike, if they won’t even notice what happens right behind their backs. Brutes, all of them, without any brains. But that is nothing new. All of Asgard seems to be filled to the brim with brutish, ignorant fools. Loki loathes them all, even if he finds himself thankful at these opportunities.

The stonewall swallows him as he presses himself gently against it, the old magic enveloping his body and brushing cool fingers over his skin. For a moment, he allows himself to breathe, eyes closed as he works to get his heart rate to slow down again. He has been sneaking in and out of the palace for centuries now, since he made it his personal mission to learn all of its secret when he was just a little boy. He knows that he is not in any danger. Still, his heart pounds in his chest, and his hands tremble ever so slightly. With another deep breath he blinks his eyes open again and starts walking. It’s child’s play making his way through the cold, silent corridors hidden in between the palace’s thick walls, even without any source of light. His feet find the right way effortlessly, and it’s been many decades since he has needed to brush his hands along the uneven walls for guidance.

At a small niche he pauses to undress. His inconspicuous tunis is wet, drenched in blood. The fabric reeks of sickness, puss and infection, and he gags at the smell. That, on the other hand, is not something he will ever get used to. It lands in a wet heap on the ground, and the cold air makes gooseflesh rise on his bare upper body. Now, he is also thankful for the darkness, sparing him the sight of the light sheen of blood and sweat covering his fair skin. Shuddering, he hurries to clean himself up and put on more appropriate clothing. The familiar costume settles easily on his body, and with it comes the mask he has perfected over a long time. Once every clasp has been closed and every layer is adjusted, he straightens his posture and turns towards the opposite side of the wall. Pressing his palms against the cold stone, he closes his eyes and wills his magic to open a passage way for him, and a moment later, he can feel the substance give and swallow him whole, before spitting him into his very own quarters on the other side. He is back again.

No matter how long he bathes, the smell of sickness never seems to leave entirely. It clings to his skin, his hair and settles in his mind, clouding his thoughts. He hates it, as it makes his mind slow and sluggish, which he can’t allow. It’s the only thing he can count on - His mind and intelligence. Losing them is not an option. Not if he ever wants to find a solution, a way out, for the both of them. The stench makes him gag again, and yet he would never wish for it to disappear. Some days, he is not sure wether he truly... Left. Wether he truly succeeded in finding Lyngvi again, or if it was all just a dream. If he only dreamed of finding his son again, of healing his broken boy and holding him close. The thought scared him, and so he presses his shaking fingers against his nose, inhaling the scent of decay as nausea rises in the back of his throat again. He barely remembers the scent of his own child. Even if he used to bury his nose in the boy’s fluffy fur, back when it was still soft and downy, not course and rough like it is now. He remembers how it felt running through his fingers, but he can’t remember the smell it carried. The thought makes tears rise in his eyes. But no, he can’t cry. If the sight of Fenrir’s cut open legs and broken snout won’t make him weep, such sentiments won’t, either. Crying won’t help, anyway. It’s of no use, so he won’t waste his time with it. There are things to be done, after all. Things that can no longer be ignored.

The halls are quiet. There is no one to see one of the princes march through the palace, no one to question his motivation. Even if there were, no one would dare to ever cross him. People might not like him, but at the very least they fear him enough to leave him alone. He prefers it this way. Just as he is about to reach the library, a loud, excited voice booms through the wide halls.

“Brother, there you are!”

Loki cringes and curses his brother’s impeccable timing. Of course he would be just a few moments too late to escape him. Still, his face smoothes out as he turns around to face the smiling blond.

“I assume you have been searching for me?”, he asks with a slight smile, and Thor only laughs.

“And you assume right! Everyone has been wondering where you’ve been hiding away today.”

Loki squares his shoulders, trying to not let his nervousness show. People should never wonder where he goes whenever he slips out of the palace. Who wonders might start searching, and that can only complicate things. He doesn’t need any more watchful eyes following his every move. Still, his brother doesn’t need to know any of this.

“Why is it you needed me?”, he asks instead.

Luckily, his brother is much too brutish to ever pick up on the slight changes in his posture and expression. Instead, he loudly drones on about the successful hunt he has returned from, and the banquet that is being held right now. Before Loki can come up with any excuse, there’s a massive arms slung over his shoulders and he finds himself being pulled along, back the way he came from. He sighs quietly as he realizes that he has missed his chance of spending the rest of the night in the library and will now have to suffer through hours of his brother’s arrogance and boisterousness, while half of Asgard cheers on.

“You have been gone far too many time these past few months”, his brother adds a little quieter as they near the festive hall, “and you often seem rather glum. Mother and I have been worried about you.”

Which is a problem, Loki knows. His brother may be an oaf, but his mother is a lot more perceptive. She knows him, better than anyone else, and often picks up on his moods and worries. Usually he wouldn’t mind it, but when it comes to this, it’s nothing more than another complication. Something he needs to be weary of.

“We are hoping that the banquet will cheer you up again!”, Thor adds with a huge smile as he slaps Loki’s back with enough force to make him stumble.

The sorcerer curses his brother’s strength as he straightens again, schooling his irritated expression into something akin to thoughtful contemplation. It’s a little exaggerated, but he knows his brother would have quite a lot of trouble picking up on it otherwise. Waiting just a few seconds to keep up appearances, he finally nods slowly with a deep sigh.

“I guess you are right. There has been... A lot on my mind, recently. But you needn’t worry, brother. I am quite alright.”

Thor smiles, then, a soft, warm smile that Loki hates with his very soul, because it makes something warm and familiar stir in his chest. No matter how brute, no matter how oafish and stupid he may be, deep down, his brother is nothing but a loving idiot. It makes hating him all the more difficult.

“I am glad to hear that, Loki. But, please, come with me! Drink some mead, eat some boar, and forget your worries for a while! It would mean a lot to me. And to mother, as well.”

“Then it appears I have no choice but to accompany you. Lead the way.”

His brother laughs loudly at that and again throws an arm around his shoulders. Loki allows him to pull him along once again, because he knows there is no way to get out of this, at least not tonight. If they have been worrying, it might just be better to appease them for a few hours, rather than arouse their suspicion. And so, he only smiles easily as his brother starts to recount his most recent adventure, all the while cursing his horrible timing.

The golden festive hall is filled with countless merry Asgardians drinking, eating and celebrating whatever it is they deem worthy of celebration today. Loki inwardly cringes at the amount of noise that assaults his ears the moment the two brothers step inside, but once again doesn’t show any sign of discomfort. After all, he is used to this. And neither Thor nor Odin ever cared that he would much rather spend his days and nights tucked away in the library than take part in their foolish celebrations. He got dragged along, and he had to enjoy himself, or at least put on a good show if he didn’t want to face their questions and irritation.

His brother drags him through the loudly cheering masses of guests, towards where the rest of the royal family is seated. Frigga smiles warmly at her sons, blond hair woven into intricate braids that fall down towards her red and golden dress. The Allfather simply watches on, and Loki tries to swallow the fear that crawls up his throat. He merely nods as he takes his seat on his mother’s left side, who places a warm hand on his arm. There is no reason to be afraid, no reason to assume that he has somehow given himself away. But the fear remains, even as he turns towards his mother and basks in the light of her gentle smile.

“I am glad you have decided to join us, Loki. We have missed you dearly.”

“Thor wouldn’t really leave me a choice.”

“Yes, I thought so. Still, I am happy to have both of you here. You seem... Quiet. Troubled, even. Is anything troubling you, my darling?”

His mother’s eyes shine with concern, and for a moment he feels guilty. Frigga has always been his saving grace throughout the years, a kindred soul, an ally in his daily battles. She doesn’t deserve all the worry her sons are causing her, however different their causes may be.

“I’ve had... A lot on my mind. But there is nothing to be done about it. I have already told Thor as much, there is no need to worry either of you. I am sure it will all work out soon enough.”

“I hope so as well. But please, never hesitate if you need my help. You know I will always listen.”

“Of course, mother.”

Of course he knows that. Frigga has always listened whenever he was troubled, and always tried her best to give advise, to find a solution. But there are things even the Allmother can’t fix, try as she might. And she had tried, back then. Loki knows that she bargained with Odin, for many days, that she begged him for mercy. But the Allfather could not be moved, and so she had to give up eventually. They both cried when she told him, and she held him through the night as he screamed and wailed. That was the last time he ever talked about Fenrir with anyone. And his son’s name has not been mentioned within the family ever since then.

Frigga smiles warmly at him and presses a kiss to his cheek, which he gladly endures.

People around them are still cheering, laughing and singing, and even the Allfather seems amused by his son’s retelling of the dangerous hunt. Loki acts as though he is listening and eats and drinks enough to not arouse any more suspicion. Every now and again, Odin’s gaze flickers towards him, and the fear is biting at his bones. It’s dangerous, this game he is playing. If anyone were ever to find out that he has found ways to reach his son, well hidden as he may be, there is no doubt he will be thrown into the darkest, coldest cell the palace has to offer. He cannot risk it. He has fought too long and too hard to lose his son all over again, and if he gets locked away forever, there will be no one left to search for Fenrir. But the Allfather is not stupid - Loki is well aware that he has found a worthy opponent in his own father, when it comes to intelligence, strategizing and manipulating. If even Thor has picked up on his dark moods, Odin must’ve seen it a long time ago. So, he must be watching, and Loki has to play his role - The role of the grieving father, who has lost all of his children and has no way of ever getting them back. In the beginning, it wasn’t an act, even while he was working fervently on a way to find a path that would lead him to his youngest. Once he reached Fenrir, once he came back to the palace for the first time, he was scared his mask would slip, and some of the hope and joy would seep through. But he needn’t have worried. All it took was the thought of Fenrir’s cut open legs, bleeding snout and infected wounds to make his heart crumble once again.

These days, he easily plays the part, and the Allfather’s gaze leaves him soon enough to wander through the merry crowd. And Loki swears once again that one day, he won’t have to play this charade ever again.

He leaves the banquet with a headache and a bitter taste in his mouth. Thor is busy laughing with his idiotic friends, and Odin has a slightly pained expression on his face, probably already exhausted by the same old tales himself. Yet the celebration will drag on for many more hours, so the sorcerer is glad to leave it all behind as soon as possible. His tired feet carry him back to his own chambers, as he knows there would be no use in disappearing into the library anymore. The moment has passed, and he will have to rest before he can make another attempt at... He is no longer sure.

In the beginning, there was only one goal in his mind: Find a way to break the binding. He was lot younger, then, but a lot of time has passed. And while his goal has remained the same, he also had to add about one hundred other things that need to happen. Freeing his son is the most important part, of course. But where will they go once Gleipnir is broken? Loki is a seasoned traveller between the realms, and he knows ways to evade even Heimdall’s eyes. But his son... He will need to heal, he will not be able to travel so soon, and then- Then there won’t be any place to go for them, nowhere to hide. Loki has no friends, no allies, at least... Not anymore. They would be alone, and so the burden of cloaking both of them falls onto the sorcerer’s shoulders. He has been researching every possibility he can think of, yet he is far from finding a solution, one that he is confident in succeeding.

Once he reaches his chambers, he immediately locks the doors and begins to undress. By now, his clothes smell like mead and roasted boar, sweet wine and warm, spicy bread. He finds himself longing for the stench of rotten blood and sickness as he throws his clothes into a corner and crawls under the covers. Here, it’s quiet and dark, soothing his aching head, but the bitter taste remains. He no longer enjoys the heavy taste of mead. Back when they took him away, Loki drank himself to sleep many nights, much to his father’s anger and his mother’s worry. He drank until he forgot, and when he woke up, he cried in shame and despair. With a sigh, he rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. His bed is cold, it always is. His body is tired, his mind is wide awake. Fears and worries, doubts and memories flutter behind his closed eyes, and he cringes at the bright, angry colors they evoke. Loki can’t remember the last time he slept peacefully. No, that’s not true, he remembers all too well. He remembers it all. It’s his very own curse and blessing.

Fenrir was the last to be taken away. For some reason, with him, it hurt the worst. He was Loki’s youngest, and the one child he loved the deepest. He was the one he thought he might be allowed to keep.

He was just a tiny pup, after all. Curious and eager to explore, excitedly toddling after his father wherever he went, chewing on the seams of his clothing, pawing at the pages in his most precious books, and always eagerly awaiting affection and love. To this day, Loki chuckles at the image of the little grey-red bundle of fur racing through the fields, chasing after him and nipping playfully at his heels, because he always caught his father. Loki would spend hours reading to his precious little cub, telling him stories of all the places he’d gone to, and made a promise to take him there, one day. And at night, the little one would crawl under the covers with him, burying into his arms and pressing his cold, wet nose against his neck as he snuffled and nuzzled closer. They’d curl around each other, warm fur pressed against cool skin, and fall asleep to the sounds of each other’s calm heartbeats.

Just a tiny pup - In the beginning. But he grew, of course he did. Loki always knew, considering who his mother was, that he would not stay as small, but he... He had hoped. But his son grew, from the stumbling, fluffy puppy, into a humongous wolf, a creature of strength and endurance. Loki watched in awe and fear, and soon enough his son could no longer fit into his bed, not even his chambers, and he was afraid. Fenrir was still the same, nothing but loving and curious, intelligent and full of wonder, but only Loki knew, and only Loki cared. And then came the day his father called him into the throne room, as he had spoken with a völva, and she’d told him about Loki’s children. That was the day it had all ended.

His bed is too cold. Once Fenrir grew too big to even fit through Loki’s doors, he often left the palace in the evening and joined his son outside, in the wide field surrounding it. He’d bring a few books, and the wolf would curl around him, and listen to him read until the sun went down and the stars came out. They’d fall asleep in the soft grass, still listening to each other’s heartbeats. Life was still good. Until it suddenly wasn’t anymore.

In the end, he curls into himself, still shivering even though it isn’t all that cold and willing his racing thoughts to quiet down. He dreams of blood and endless fields of heather. In the distance, he can hear his child howl and cry for help, yet he can’t reach him.

He wakes with the sunrise and doesn’t bother staying in his bed any longer. After washing himself and putting on clothing, he quietly opens his door and steps out into the corridor. The fest has dragged on up until just a short while ago, so most of the palace is still deeply asleep. Just as he likes it. Without further ado, he hurries through the hallways and sighs in relief as no one crosses his path. The door to the library opens with only a slight creaking, and he quickly slips inside, pulling the door shut behind himself.

Silence and the smell of ink and old paper greet him. He allows himself to take a deep breath as he strides through the countless rows of shelves, all of them reaching towards the high ceiling and filled to the brim with books. His fingers stroke over their broken, often cracked backs, and he relishes in the their quiet company as he makes his way further and further into the depths of the hall. For as long as he can remember, he has always felt safe and at home in these rooms, and that hasn’t changed. It was his safe haven, his sanctuary, his gate to many other worlds. Here, he found ideas not unlike his own, tales of sorcerers with abilities like himself, and scripts that helped him learn to use those abilities to his advantage. Those books taught him how to fight, how to manipulate and confuse and deceive. It may not be honorable, but it kept him alive - As well as Thor and his band of reckless fools. Not that they would ever acknowledge it, or even thank him for his help... Loki has long ago stopped being angry about things like that. Today, just like for a long time now, he passes by all the magic books that helped him learn about himself, his teachers and friends, and turns towards the darker, older, dustier parts of the library, the parts hardly anyone ever steps into. There, beneath endless layers of dust and cobwebs, he hopes to find some answers.

The problem, he soon realized after starting this desperate search, was that he didn’t know what he was looking for. He knew that he wanted to break the binds, find Gleipnir’s weakness and tear it apart and free his son, but he had to understand that it was not that simple. When he first found his son, he spent as much time as possible studying to make up of those cursed chains, pushing against it with his own magic, searching for the right point to press and break and destroy. But he didn’t find anything. Grudgingly, he had to admit that it was a masterpiece of sorcery, and it definitely exceeded his abilities. With a low curse, he began to search for an answer.

As it turned out, it was anything but easy. The binding wasn’t simply... Enchanted, it was painstakingly constructed by a group of dwarfs from Svartalfaheim, master smiths and skilled in forging powerful fetters. Of course, the gods first tried to forge those fetters themselves, arrogant and foolish as they were. Fenrir broke them both, and only then did they turn towards the dwarfs. Still, they managed to chain him with Gleipnir, and Loki saw himself confronted with a nearly unsolvable problem. He didn’t give up, of course, but it turned out to be a lot more difficult than he’d dared to imagine.

There was no one he could ask, not without arousing suspicion. Once the books proved to be unhelpful, he had to turn towards other sources. He traveled all throughout the nine realms, all the while weary of Heimdall’s gaze following him, searching for anyone who might be able to tell him just a little bit more. People often turned their backs, sneered at him or shied away once he breathed only his son’s name, and he’d hiss and curse them and fight not to cry in desperation. All the while trying to keep up appearances, he never could stay gone for too long, as he had to return to the palace and ensure his family that he was still... Whatever it was they wanted to believe about him. It limited his travels significantly, and he cursed the Allfather for all he had done. Sometimes he was lucky enough to find some scraps of knowledge, some whispered advise, muttered names, and then he’d tremble with excitement and hope. It often felt as though he was crawling through rubble and ice, barely making any progress, exhausting himself with every movement, yet unable to give up, even if all he wanted was lie down and sleep.

Another return to the palace, a few hours spent at the banquet, and then he’d hide away in the library again, learning about anything that might prove useful in the great scheme of things. Thor complained that he barely even saw him anymore, and he found himself being dragged out for hunts as often as he could allow, and his mother would come by and brush a hand through his dark hair, reminding him to eat and drink. Odin would only ever raise his eyebrows, but he never commented, which was a blessing. Loki was too occupied to wonder about his father as well.

Nowadays, the sorcerer knows that the dwarfs used six ingredients to forge Gleipnir. He knows that he will have to learn about each of them and their connections with each other in order to have even the slightest chance of breaking them apart. Just a few weeks ago, he has met some dwarfs that might know more about the original smiths, and they might even be willing to tell him more. But dwarfs are greedy, and they are prone to omit the truth as well. Now, Loki may be the god of lies, but he is not interested in investing a small fortune for nothing but vague allusions and false information. Therefore, he needs to learn all he can about the possible components in order to spot a lie immediately, and not waste any time with useless questions he could find the answer to himself. The dust makes him cough and most of the pages are so brittle he has to handle them with the utmost care, lest they fall apart under his fingertips.

Fenrir used to love the library. Although, Loki doubts it had anything to do with the endless amount of books and more with the way he’d curl up in his father’s lap while he read to him for hours. The cub never truly cared where they went, as long as they went there together. Yet Loki is sure that his son also enjoyed the peace and silence they both found in between those huge shelves, safely hidden away from prying eyes. The wolf hardly ever warmed up to strangers, and he preferred to stay close to his father, and not anyone else. Either way, the sorcerer was just as happy to hide away between the books - Even though he remembers how difficult it was to study with a curious child in his lap, who’d chew on the book’s edges and try to catch the pages between his paws whenever Loki dared to stop scratching behind his soft ears. Not that he ever minded, and he never had it in him to scold the little one. He remembers the soft, ever shifting weight in his lap, the squirming bundle of fur that would slither through his hands every time he tried to look at him sternly, and how easy it was to laugh back then. Fenrir always had a way of bringing out a childishness in him that he had thought to have successfully buried. Yet his son made him smile and laugh and jump into the creek hidden away in the forest, spalshing around and rolling in the sand and soft grass at the shore.

Loki blinks a few times as he realizes that he has been staring off into space without taking in any of the words. It’s been happening more and more often lately, as the exhaustion and sadness seem to seep into his bones and pull him down towards the ground. He can’t allow that anymore. He’s losing too much time as it is, with all the necessary traveling and the time it takes him to return to Asgard. Thor and Frigga have already noticed, which means Odin has as well. And all the while he still needs to return to Fenrir’s side, which gets harder every time he leaves. So far, he has always managed to trick the spell-work hiding the island of Lyngvi, but the more time passes, the harder it gets. He finds himself wandering for days without getting any closer to his son, when in the beginning it was only a matter of hours to work through the magical fabric that shielded him from his eyes. It all feels scarily like... And Loki barely dares to think it, but the thought sinks its claws into his brain and seeps into his consciousness.

_Time is running out._

He knows that Fenrir is getting weaker. Gleipnir drains his magic for fear that he might find a way to free himself, and the chains cut his flesh every time he moves. There is no food or water for him, and he is slowly withering away. Loki tried to feed him, of course, but the wolf could not swallow around the sword lodged in his maw and only howled in pain. By now, Loki can count his ribs even from afar. His once shining golden eyes have dulled, his fur is dull and dirty, claws long and cracked. His teeth and throat smell of decay, his breathing sounds wet and ragged.

His son is dying, and the thought makes him suck in a breath. Of course, he knows it, has known it since the first time he found his child gagged and bound at the end of the world, but now it seems almost inevitable. A shudder runs through his body as he buries his head in his hands and tries to take deep breaths. There is still time, there has to be! He has worked so hard, traveled so far, endured so much - It can’t end like this, with his beautiful son wasting away just before he finds a way to cut this damn fetter! But the fear won’t be pushed away, and his heart trembles in his chest as he fights the urge to cry and scream. He has to control himself, because if he loses control now, he will be useless, and he needs to focus. He needs to find a way to free his son, and then- Then they will simply have to disappear, run away and never turn back. With a deep breath, he blinks away the tears that have somehow gathered in his eyes and forces himself to concentrate on the book in front of him. He won’t cry. Not until his son is free again - Until they’re both free again.

“I thought that I might find you here.”

Loki flinches at the sound of a familiar voice and barely manages to hold onto the book he is currently reading. Twisting around, he comes face to face with the loving gaze of his mother, who has somehow managed to sneak up on him. Or rather, he was once again lost to the world and simply didn’t notice her approaching. She smiles gently at him, as he takes a deep breath and closes the book carefully.

“Mother. I... Hadn’t expected you.”

“Because you are the only who like to get lost in here?”, she asks lowly and with a twinkle in her eyes, “or did you forget who used to bring you here before you were even able to walk?”

“I could never forget that”, he murmurs as she steps closer and takes a seat next to him.

His mother was the one to inspire his love for books and knowledge, after all. While Thor was always a wild child, her younger son was more than happy to sit with her, learning to read and then reading together for many hours on end. Loki tried to do the same for Fenrir - To bring him peace and quiet and endless knowledge, and he likes to think that he succeeded, even if his pup still preferred to spend his days outside in the fields and forests. Frigga raises his eyebrows as she scans the books that are surrounding him, and Loki wishes she would leave, or better yet, forget she even found him here.

“An interesting choice in books”, she finally states, and picks one of them up, “I never knew you were interested in... _The Forging Of Magical Bindings And Their Mechanical Reinforcement_.”

“One can never know too much.”

“And this one?”

The Queen holds up another tome, one that details the bloodline of one of the oldest dwarf clan located in Svartalfaheim. Loki was rather ecstatic to find it hidden in the library’s depths, as he is sure he will find some of the names he has been searching for. Now, as it sits innocently in Frigga’s grasp, it seems to taunt him with the promises of progress.

“I plan on traveling to Svartalfaheim in the near future. Some of the dwarfs there might be in possession of a rather rare--”

“Loki. My darling boy. Please, do not try to lie to me. You might be able to deceive others, but not me. I know you, love.”

The prince shudders ever so slightly, but his mother’s gentle eyes won’t stray away, and he feels himself crumbling under her attention and honest worry. Frigga knows him better than anyone else, and he never was able to lie to her. Most of the times, he didn’t even want to. He doesn’t want to now, either. So, he lets out a quiet sigh and allows his head to hang low as his eyes slip shut. Exhaustion and weariness drag at his bones, and he wishes he could succumb, and sleep for a few years. His mother’s soft hand brushes through his black hair, like it used to back when he was just a small child, craving live and affection.

“It’s already been so long. I miss him so much.”

Saying it out loud cuts even deeper, but he feels as though some of the pressure in his chest loosens. Frigga takes a deep breath and presses just a little closer and presses a kiss to his temple.

“I’m so very sorry, my son. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“He’s been there for so many years. And he’s... He’s dying, mother. There is no way he can last much longer than he already has.”

There are tears burning in his eyes, but he still refuses to cry. He is already talking too much, but this is his mother, the one ally in his life, and she won’t betray his trust. She loves him, he is sure of that. And maybe she even loved his son.

“I know it hurts, Loki. But what you are doing is dangerous, and if anyone where to find out--”

“I can cloak myself from Heimdall’s gaze. I’ve been doing it for many years now. They won’t find out.”

“You can’t hide yourself forever. Not with so many people watching.”

“They haven’t found out so far. I just... Need a little more time.”

His head is aching, and his hands tremble as his mother scratches his scalp and puts her other hand on his own, squeezing his cold fingers. Her affection seems to break down his walls with every passing second, and he knows that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop.

“How long do you think you can keep going like this? You are exhausted, weary, so different from the boy I once knew. I barely recognize you anymore, my darling. And it scares me.”

He feels a sting in his heart, because he never wants to cause her worry and grief. Frigga doesn’t deserve any of his or Thor’s failures, yet she never stopped loving them, no matter how often they disappointed her. Still, the desperation drowns out even the sharpest pain rather fast as he pushes himself up and turns around to face her.

“What do you expect me to do? Simply turn my back at him and continue to life as if he never existed?”

It comes out a little harsher than he intends, but there... There is just so much _anger _and _fear_ and _desperation _and he is so _tired_. Still, the hurt expression on her face makes him sigh and wish he never opened his mouth in the first place.

“I just wish you would not forget about yourself in the process. I know you love him, more than words can say, but killing yourself won’t solve any of this. Your father... He has made sure he won’t ever be freed. And I know you still believe that one day all of this will be over, but I fear... I fear this dream will never come true.”

“So you want me to give up?”

Her kind eyes fill with tears, and he wants to hate her for not immediately denying it. He wants to hear that he just has to try a little harder, fight a little longer, and all will be well again. He wants- He _needs_ to hear it, or else he might break apart.

“I just want you to realize that maybe... Maybe there is nothing to be done about it. Maybe you won’t succeed, no matter how hard you try.”

Loki shies away at that, but Frigga doesn’t release her hold on her son, gently tugging him closer until he folds into her familiar arms. She always had a way to make him feel like a small boy, and he allows himself a moment of rest as she tucks his head under her chin.

“I know, I know, my sweet boy. But maybe it is time to let go. There is no use in killing yourself trying to achieve the impossible. It will be of no use to Fenrir, either. And maybe his time has come. It would be an end to his suffering, at the very least.”

_And that is all the world had to offer my son? Centuries of torture, and then nothing more but the consolation that it will end sooner than it could have? I always wished for more for my sweet boy. He deserves so much more..._

He stay quiet, though, because he knows Frigga can feel his pain and is not trying to make all of this even harder. She is only trying to prepare him for what she deems inevitable, even if she knows that he can’t accept that, not until Fenrir’s last breath. But his son is still alive, even if he is fading. And as long as he is breathing and alive, Loki won’t be able to give up.

“If it was one of us - Would you be able to simply stop looking?”

“Loki--”

“If there was even the slightest chance of freeing us, would you not fight until you dying breath?”

She can’t deny it, and they both know it. The Queen would fight whole armies to protect her precious sons, and Loki is the same. And just as he does not dare lie to her, she won’t lie to him, either. With a sigh, she brushes back his slick hair and gives him a sad smile.

“No, I suppose not. I doubt any parent ever would stop fighting for their child. But, your children are very different from most. You know what the völva told you father, you know why he had them taken away. Even if you managed to free him, where would you go? There would be no place for you anywhere near Asgard. You’d choose your very own exile.”

“I know.”

“And you are willing to do so?”

“Yes. For my son, I would.”

As much as he loathes it at times, Asgard is still home. He loves his mother, his father, his brother, and the palace he grew up in. It’s what he returns to after all of his journey, a place to rest and feel safe in, and no matter how often he wishes for things to be different, he is not fool enough to think he would not miss any of it.If he leaves, if he chooses exile, he will lose his home forever. And it will hurt, more than he can imagine now.

His mother smiles as a tear runs down her cheek, and she leans forward to rest her forehead against his. Loki closes his eyes and relishes in the warmth she radiates.

“I truly hope you will succeed, my little raven. But I also hope that I won’t ever have to lose you. I doubt I could bear the pain of losing a child myself.”

He shudders in her embrace and she pulls him closer, petting his hair and shushing him as he trembles, even if he still does not allow the tears to fall. It used to be a lot easier, all of this. But he has long since realized that freeing his son will cost him so much more than he previously thought. Yet it doesn’t dissuade him from his course. Fenrir will be worth any sacrifice -Even if it costs him the rest of his beloved family.

Loki keeps his eyes closed when Frigga pulls away some time later, kissing his forehead one last time before getting up and quietly leaving his safe haven. He listens to her steps growing quiet, and then there is only silence again. Slowly he straightens himself and wipes an angry hand over his wet eyes. Then, he forces his shaking hand to comply and picks up one of his discarded books. There is still some time left. He better not waste it.

He emerges from the library a few hours later. The sun is setting, his eyes are burning, and the dust has settled in his lungs, making him cough. Still, he can barely keep the triumphant smile off his face. The last four chapters proved to be rather useful, providing him with detailed information about some of techniques in forging bindings - Information that may very well help him break them some day. Rubbing his dusty hands together he brushes a hand through his hair and slowly turns towards his chambers. He is done for today, but there is reason to hope. Loki can’t stifle a yawn as he makes his way through the hallways. He is too tired, and so he doesn’t notice the sound of heavy footsteps until it is too late.

“Have you been hiding in the library again, brother? You know it does not become you!”

One day, Loki will find a way to simply turn into thin air whenever he pleases - Whenever his oaf of a brother strides by and decides to ruin his plan once again, without even realizing it. But, today is not the day he achieves that goal, so all he can do is roll his eyes and shake his head.

“Maybe it would become you to read a book once in a while. You do know that they don’t bite, right?”, he teases, and of course Thor laughs, as it is a conversation they’ve had countless times over the centuries.

“Ah, but I do not think it would be of use to me. I will leave the studying in your capable hands!”

“So we shall remain the same as always”, Loki responds with an incline of his head, “what it is you needed? I am rather tired and was just about to retire to my chambers.”

He hopes that this will be enough to allow him to leave, as he really is tired, and he truly wishes to retire to his chambers. Even the god of lies has come to appreciate the small kernel of truth at the heart of a good lie. It makes selling any story so much easier if there are parts of it you can believe yourself. But Thor’s smile falters, and he stars walking alongside his younger brother through the hallways. Fantastic.

“Have you talked to Mother yet?”

“I have, indeed. Why are you asking?”, Loki murmurs as he rounds a corner and wracks his brain for any other way to get rid of his brother.

“You still seem... Troubled. I know Mother still worries, and that you have not told her about any reasons for your dark moods.”

“I was not aware that it was required of me.”

Thor scoffs and shakes his head.

“And it is not. But...”, he sighs and casts a careful look around them.

This worries Loki greatly, because Thor is anything but aware of his surroundings, cautious or forward thinking at the best of times. If he truly cares if someone is listening right now, it means that even he feels like it is a topic too sensitive to discuss out in the open. After a moment, he turns back towards his brother with a sad expression on his face.

“We are aware that... It is that time of the year again. And I am very sorry for how much it still pains you.”

Loki blinks in confusion, before he understands. And all of a sudden his heart seems to shatter once again in a matter of seconds.

“Ah, yes, it... It has been another year already.”

Thor pats his shoulder as he says this, but the sorcerer barely feels it. His mind is filled with only one thought: Another year gone by, another year with his son chained at some forsaken island, another year he has lost with his child, another year full of anger and pain and desperation. His brother seems to notice his distress, which is an indication of how rattled he really must be and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“I am very sorry, brother. I understand how much it pains you.”

_No_, Loki thinks as he nods along dumbly, _no, you know nothing of my pain and suffering, or of my son’s tragedy. You have never had any children of your own. How would you know what it feels like to lose them?_

“But it has been many years now, and yet you still grieve like it has only happened yesterday.”

Loki shudders, and Thor proceeds to pull him closer, as if that would ever make him feel better. There were times when he crawled into his brother’s bed after a nightmare, finding comfort in his arms and the funny stories they’d make up together in the middle of the night. Now, his touch seems to burn his skin as he flinches.

“You have to come to terms with it at some point. We always knew it would happen eventually, after the others. It couldn’t have been much of a surprise. Right, Loki?”

He finds himself nodding along, because... Well, he should’ve known, shouldn’t he? He should’ve never been naive enough to think for even a second that a single one of his children would be safe and welcome in this world. He should’ve wrapped him up in his arms and run away with him, the very moment he was born. No, it really hadn’t been a surprise. But for a short moment, he had allowed himself to dream and hope.

“Come, now. We will take our horses out for a ride. That will clear your head!”

_If only you knew_, Loki thinks as he follows his brother out of the palace and towards the stables, _how much it hurts to see my child suffer like this. To know that I can’t save him, no matter how hard I try. And if only you could ever understand what it feels like to be outsider, to be unwelcome and unloved and judged before you were ever able to comprehend. But you will never know, golden prince._

And he hates his brother, hates him so much for the ease with which he moves through his life, beloved by all, cheered on no matter what he does, mind free of worries and grief. He envies him, and envies all the children he will ever father, knowing that they will be cared for and welcomed into the royal family with open arms. Loved, from the very moment they will be born.

But he won’t voice any of those thoughts, because it won’t lead anywhere. His brother... He may be a fool, and a brute and-- But he won’t ever understand, no matter how many times Loki tries. Thor met his nephew, and Loki likes to think he even came to care for the boy, play-fighting and wrestling with the ever growing pup, testing their strength against each other. But then came the cursed day when Odin ordered him into the throne room, and ever since then, Thor has kept his distance. He doesn’t mention his niece or nephews, and mostly acts like he never knew them. It hurts a lot more than Loki is comfortable admitting. He tries not think about it.

“It probably won’t hurt to try”, he hears himself mutter as they step out into the warm, pleasant evening.

Thor seems content enough, even if he lacks any enthusiasm and urges him to move along. And Loki- Loki used to enjoy his almost infectious happiness, used to allow himself to be infected and dragged along. But once again, these times have been long gone, and now only snarls and snaps, while his brother watches on and has the audacity to act hurt - Or as hurt as Thor will ever be.

_I wish you’d understand. I wish you knew my despair and all the injustice... I wish you’d feel my pain and crumble, until you won’t ever dare to suggest I’d have to get over the loss of my child again._

Still, he keeps silent as they walk towards the stables and ponders his next steps. After this ride out, he will return to his chambers and rest for a long time. Tomorrow, he will decide on the best route to Svartalfaheim, and find those dwarfs again. Granted, that might make him seem desperate, but he can’t afford to care anymore. He _is _desperate, his son is _dying_, and he is running out of time. Loki can no longer afford to care about his pride, he needs to find a way to break the fetter and flee.

They have both waited long enough.

To his surprise, the ride actually does clear his mind. His trusted mare runs fast and string, carrying him through the fields and a long way into the forest. Thor laughs as he tries to urge his own steed on, and they race each other through the wilderness. The cool wind brushes through his hair and fills his lungs, and the setting sun paints the world around them red, orange, golden. It’s a beautiful evening, and they take their time to allow their horses a little rest near one of the cold creeks. Loki watches the darkness creep over the hills as the slowly make their way back towards the palace and thinks about an island covered in heather, where the sun never rises and never sets.

“I am glad to see you smile again, Loki. I had missed your happiness. Even your mischief!”

“Oh, is that so? Maybe I should think of some new pranks to play on you and your formidable friends, if you are truly missing it so _desperately_”, he chuckles, and thinks that maybe that would be a good idea, if only to make his brother truly believe in his recovery.

Thor shakes his head and proceeds to lament about all the jokes and pranks that his younger brother played on him throughout the years, while Loki acts as though he is paying attention as his mind wanders off. He cannot be sure about when he will return to Asgard, but he knows that he will have to search for Fenrir again immediately. The wolf is too weak to be alone for too long; every time it takes more time and energy to heal his wounds, as his own magic withers and won’t be of any more help in the process. No, he won’t waste any more time, even if his mother will grow worried and Thor will demand answers he wouldn’t understand, either way. He laughs along with his brother as they return to the stables and hand their horses off to the servants, adding his own comment to his retellings of some of the brighter memories of their shared childhood. When they bid each other goodnight, he is confident that Thor feels good enough about himself that he will no longer ask questions and continue to believe whatever it is he wants to believe.

And Loki thinks that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to humor his brother. No one knows how many more opportunities like this one will present itself. If all goes according to plan, if it all works out, these might be some of the last moments he spends with his brother in peace. And he will miss the oaf, no matter how different they may be. Loki is smart enough to know that his brother may be an arrogant brute, but he also loves and cares for his family very much. It’s hard not to love him back when he tries so hard, at least in his own ways. He has a feeling his brother will look for him, once he realizes that he is gone, and he fears the pain it will bring him to understand that they won’t see each other again for a very long time. Yet he can’t find a way around it. No matter how it ends, someone will be hurt terribly. Loki will simply have to make his peace with it.

Feeling at least slightly more at ease, he wanders into his chambers, takes off his clothes and crawls under the covers. Again, it feels too cold, too empty and spacious, but tonight he is tired enough to ignore it and fall asleep within minutes. His dreams are cold, misty and smell of sickness and rotten flesh.


End file.
